Stockholm
by Brian1911
Summary: Harry finds himself in the middle of nowhere, with no knowledge of how he got there. However, a chance encounter quickly means that this is the least of his problems. Slash. HP-SN
1. Bump In the Night

**Disclaimer:** I don't own either Harry Potter or Supernatural. All right go to their respective owners.

 **ONE**

 **Bump In the Night**

Harry couldn't remember anything.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. If he searched his mind hard enough, he could almost pinpoint the last memory he had before waking up. But it was fleeting and formless, shadowed in the back of his consciousness.

He knew enough about his life and himself that he was sure it was weird for him to have woken up on the side of a dusty road, barren landscape stretching as far as the eye could see. Okay, so maybe that was unusual for any sane person, but Harry felt, within that cloudy portion of his brain, that this was even more out of the ordinary for him.

Being Harry Potter, he decided not to let a bad situation get the best of him. Having laid in the dirt for god knows how long trying to clear the raging storm of confusion inside his head, he wriggled his toes and fingers experimentally, deducing that nothing had been injured. Heaving himself to his feet, Harry brushed as much dirt off of his clothes as he could. In his frenzied almost-groping, he realised with a stab of panic that his wand is nowhere to be found in the folds of his trousers and sweater.

Breathing deeply through his nose, Harry tried to calm himself down by noting that any threat coming in his direction could easily be pinpointed somewhere on the horizon all around him and he would be well prepared. It was an small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

With slight trepidation, he looked in either direction down the seemingly endless road and saw no discernible signage pointing towards civilisation. Shrugging his shoulders and realising he couldn't possibly make his increasingly dire situation even worse, he took a chances and turned to his right, beginning his journey along the side of the highway.

After a good half an hour of walking, Harry decided with some difficulty not to take it as a bad sign that not a single car had passed by him. Or that the level of the horizon in front of him hadn't changed a single bit. Or that he was pretty sure he hadn't had any food or water for quite some time.

Another half an hour and Harry began to panic in earnest. He usually felt that he was a fairly positive person. Sure, many of his life experiences shouldn't have led himself to that conclusion. But after all that, he thought that he'd developed a sort of immunity to the things that life threw at him. Though he wasn't always entirely prepared for them, he longer imagined each setback as the thing that would end his life. Again, the reason for this newfound serenity (if it could be called that) seemed to be in the cloud of lost memories.

His current panic, though, seemed to be as endless as the asphalt laid out ahead of him. The certain combination of circumstances that he found himself in felt bigger than anything else he'd dealt with up to this point though he was unsure about why that was exactly. Perhaps the complete and utter lack of options at his disposal, his dishevelled state or the uncertainty of his mental state.

This anxiety continued to pervade him for some time as he continued down his path, and he officially gave up trying to track the passage of minutes or hours. All he knew was that his thirst, consternation and the blank stretch of earth under his feet continued even as the sun began to set.

His gait slowed considerably as the last remnants of light left the sky and he was certain now from the rough dryness in his mouth that he hadn't even seen a drop of water in days. Something niggled at the back of his mind. He should have really found his parched state more confusing than it was but the part of his brain that held the answer to the question of why he was in the middle of nowhere seemed to buckle under the weight of his survival instincts.

Something in the distance halted him in his tracks and he stared blankly, unsure of himself. His thoughts must have distracted him from his progress because the thing that stuck out of the ground was only about a hundred feet away from him. He moved again with a renewed vigour and a small sigh of confused relief escaped him as Harry recognised the small cylinder.

For just a moment (at least, he'd only admit to it being just a moment), Harry was entirely unfazed by the sight of the cool metal water fountain buried directly in the middle of the road. He reached out a slightly trembling hand before pulling it back suddenly, letting the logic of the environment catch up with him.

Though it took him an embarrassingly long amount of time, Harry finally realised that whatever was in front of him must not be real. _Mirage_ , his mind helpfully supplied the word. And though he's sure it's a hallucination, Harry still stared longingly at the thing.

In fact, so transfixed he was by the sight of the fake fountain, he maintained that what happened next was entirely not his fault. In fact, he _was_ sure that the complete void of anything all around him really have should rendered him invulnerable to attack by wayward drivers, but the thing came out of nowhere and hit him nonetheless.

The blaring horn pulled him from his staring match with the faux water fountain first, and he was too utterly dumbstruck to move his body an inch. Blinding headlights flooded his vision and he couldn't tell if the sound was coming from five feet or fifty feet away. Apparently the offending car was closer than he thought, as the metal hood connected with his body with a sickening crunch seconds later, despite the screeching brakes signalling the driver's efforts to slow down.

Air escaped his lungs in a painful huff as his body rolled heavily over the body of the car. Pain roared without warning from several points of impact. His limbs flailed comically around him as he was suspended in mid air for an impossibly long time before landing with a thud and final pulse of pain that seemed to vibrate his bones, a cloud of dust suffocating him.

The vehicle finally skidded to a stop ten feet away from where he laid pitifully in the dirt. He didn't dare move a muscle, for fear of irreparably damaging his long-suffering body. He vaguely heard the thud of car doors opening and closing and shifted his eyes as much as he could in the direction of his assailants. The now grumbling black muscle car sat bodily between two shrouded figures and Harry noted with some annoyance that neither one made any movement to help him.

Sensing that they were either in shock or plotting how to dispose of his body as he was rapidly fading into unconsciousness, Harry decided to spur them into action by croaking weakly in the strongest plea for help that his battered lungs could handle.

Both figures broke out of their reverie and rushed immediately to his side. Through the blurriness of his concussed state, Harry could just barely make out two young men, one blond and the other brunette. A handsome face set with hazel green eyes swam into his vision and the last thing Harry saw before blacking out was the set of lips in front of him framing the exact words in Harry's brain:

 _"Oh, shit."_


	2. White Walls

**Disclaimer:** I don't own either Harry Potter or Supernatural. All right go to their respective owners.

 **A/N:** Okay, so I had sort of given up on this story but I had a bout of motivation. I won't make any promises about updates or anything, because I don't know how far my motivation will take me and I'm terrible at keeping promises. Also, I edited the first chapter slightly, mostly to change it to past tense because I don't know what I was thinking when I picked present tense. Hope you enjoy!

Edit: Mistakes corrected

 **TWO**

 **White Walls**

As Harry's mind floated in unconsciousness, fleeting images and snippets of conversation sprung up at random. His befuddled brain refused to provide context to the experience, forcing Harry to let go of his control as he jumped from past to present, from dreams to reality.

He heard Hermione's stern voice as she lectured him on his tendency to accidentally spill the secrets of their assignments to their friends and family.

A sputtered image of Ron in the last memory he could recall before he came to be wherever it was that he had ended up. The redhead had been hunched over his desk in the Auror office, taking in the details of Harry's investigation before casting the work aside and giving his old friend a warm smile as they discussed their weekend plans.

An unfamiliar voice registered in his brain that Harry could only guess was a part of his present nightmare. The man spoke low and even, his voice lilting only once in concern before he had control once more. Though he couldn't make out any specific words, Harry took comfort in the soothing presence.

The only sensation he felt in his body was a gentle prodding and poking that reminded Harry fiercely of his time in Hogwarts and the stern yet caring touch of Madam Pomfrey. Harry guessed the men he remembered seeing before passing out had somehow managed to get him to a hospital, though he had no idea how long it would have taken given the vast stretch of empty road where they had found him. _More like ran me down like a dog_ , he corrected himself somewhat bitterly.

His suspicion was confirmed as he finally emerged into the land of the living, the blinding light of fluorescents reflecting on white hospital walls being the first thing he could see when he finally managed to pry his eyes open. He took in the room that housed his stiff hospital bed, but could make out no distinguishing features that would set it apart from any other muggle hospital.

Machines beeped blearily beside him, an IV running down from a bag of clear fluid into his arm. A stiff-looking pale green chair sat in the corner of the room next to the door opposite his bed, the wide window to his left revealing nothing but a small stretch of concrete that led into a lush forest. The sky outside was overcast, rolling clouds looking ready to release a torrent of rain at any moment.

Choosing to ignore the fact that he was clearly far from the city centre where he lived and worked, Harry turned his attention to himself and his injuries. He moved his extremities experimentally, beginning with his fingers and toes and eventually stretching out his slightly sore arms and legs. He sighed in relief, mentally thanking the quick healing work of his magic.

Picking at the pale cotton pyjamas covering his body, Harry realised with a start that his clothes and the pouch he wore around his neck were nowhere to be seen. In his delirious state stranded on the highway he had completely forgotten the mokeskin bag that he wore everywhere, but he would need it if he had any chance of finding his way home. Contemplating whether he should call the doctor and ask for his things or make a quick escape to find them himself before the inevitable questions could be asked, Harry lost his chance as the door to his room opened suddenly and a middle aged doctor in a crisp white coat strode in, his attention taken by a chart in his hand.

The doctor glance up at Harry then skidded to a halt in his surprise, obviously not expecting his unconscious patient to wake anytime soon. He recovered remarkably quickly, his face quickly shifting into the polite warmth that Harry had come to expect from medical professionals.

"Ah, young man, it's good to see you up and about. Your recovery has caused quite the stir among the staff." Harry's brow furrowed at the doctor's American accent only to remain furrowed at his words. He had to come up with an explanation quickly before the situation got away from him. Luckily for him, the doctor's voice seemed to convey only professional curiosity for the moment, but Harry didn't think that would last if he thought about it too long.

"I'm Dr. Massan," the doctor continued, unfazed by Harry's silence. "I've been the presiding physician on your case for the past two weeks and I must be honest, I didn't think such a recovery was possible the way you were brought in."

Harry figured Dr. Massan was trying to ascertain Harry's mental understanding and ability but he was to busy beginning to panic over what he had said. _Two weeks?_ How could he have been unconscious for two whole weeks? Harry winced as he realised that his friends and family would be distraught at his disappearance, though he still could not remember the circumstances by which that had happened.

Dr. Massan seemed to realise that Harry could at least understand him and went about comforting him as he measured a cup of water from a jug sitting on an overbed table out of Harry's reach. Harry took the glass gratefully, suddenly realised how scratchy and raw his throat felt.

"It's okay, I know it must be a shock. We searched your belongings for identification, though we couldn't find anything but some kind of leather bag. Though no one could seem to open it…" He trailed off, clearly trying to reconcile a fabric pouch with the resilience of a steel vault.

Harry preoccupied with his plastic cup in lieu of acknowledging the subject.

"We had to identify the authorities, of course, given your state at the time," the doctor continued, powering through his confusion. "No matches as of yet to any missing persons reports, though I'm sure we'll find your family if they're looking for you." He finished with a comforting smile, which Harry returned politely, though he very much doubted that would happen.

"Do you remember your name?" He prompted, clearly encouraged by Harry's response.

"Harry." Despite the soothing coolness of the water, Harry's voiced still rasped the first word he had spoken in two weeks. He was certain that Dr. Massan had meant his full name, but the man made no attempt to coax any more out of Harry, a respectful professional instinct Harry figured the man had learned.

Grateful for the courtesy and the doctor's calming presence, Harry figured he would play this calmly until a more drastic approach to his exit needed to be made.

"My… memory's a little fuzzy," he gestured vaguely to convey his confusion, although he wasn't exactly lying. If the doctor was thrown by his accent, he didn't show it as he replied kindly.

"That's fine," he seemed encouraged by the confirmation that Harry wasn't some cagey runaway. "That's to be expected. If it continues, well, we'll deal with that later."

"May I see my possessions?" He asked politely.

"You'll have to be checked over by the nurse first, I'm afraid, and the sheriff from a few towns over is apparently sending over officers to ask you a few questions about what happened when you were hit. We're not sure who found you or where you were before they did, but I'm sure it couldn't have been too far from here. I'll make sure you get your things after that but as I said, it's just the clothes you were wearing and that bag." His brow furrowed again as his mind returned to the confounding object.

Harry cursed himself silently for bringing the topic back to the pouch and hurriedly agreed to Dr. Massan's plan and a quick assessment of Harry's injuries. Satisfied and mystified in equal measure at the healthy state of his body, the doctor left the room to tend to another patient, promising to return later to monitor Harry's progress. When he was gone, Harry laid his head back with a sigh as he allowed the weight of his situation to wash over him. All he had to do now was wait until he had his hands on his possessions before he could make his exit and find his way home.

—

The nurse hummed softly as she finished Harry's checkup, making small sounds of approval when she was apparently satisfied with the results. Harry waited with bated breath for her to make some comment on his speedy recovery, but she merely smiled at him and left the room with the same promise as the doctor to return later.

She had only been gone a minute in which Harry wondered if he should ask for some kind of entertainment to pass his time in the drab room, before a knock on the door signalled another visitor. Given that the hospital staff wandered in and out of the room at their own leisure, he figured it was the officers the doctor had mentioned and called them in.

Slightly bored already at the prospect of answering questions he knew would yield no results, Harry's eyes were unfocused as he glanced at the two men before he did a double take and had to stop his mouth from dropping open in shock.

The two men approached slightly warily, though from anxiety about whether he would remember them or in reaction to his own expression, Harry did not know. He quickly schooled his features into an expression of polite inquiry, looking between the taller hulk with shaggy brown hair and the short blond with the green eyes Harry remembered vividly.

Apparently placated that Harry didn't recognised them, the taller one moved forward and lifted a badge from the depths of his crisp suit for Harry to see.

"I'm Detective Page, this is Detective Jones," he glanced back at his partner, who produced his own badge. "We're with the Ferndale P.D. We were wondering if we could ask a few questions if you remember anything that could help us find who hit you."

Errantly wondering why these officers would make such an effort when they knew exactly what happened, Harry berated himself when he realised what they were really after; confirmation that he didn't remember anything that'd happened in the accident and therefore avoid the blame. He contemplated whether they were even police officers. He knew that badges could be faked, though theirs sure looked real.

"Of course," he replied. "But… I don't remember much. I don't even remember being hit." He shrugged, trying to give them the impression that the memories were lost.

The two men glanced at each other and Harry almost rolled his eyes at their lack of stealth.

"Do you remember where you were before the accident?" Jones, the shorter one asked.

"The highway… though I don't remember how I got there." Harry smiled inwardly. Memory loss was a great excuse to paper over the holes in his story.

"Do you know where your home is? Where your family might be?"

Harry faltered a second before answering, "I- I live in London, I'm here for a holiday."

Jones seemed to notice his hesitation. "You're here for a holiday? Seriously?" He glanced out at the drab forest view to accentuate his point.

Despite the fact that he knew he was lying, Harry crossed his arms in indignation.

"And? I'm not allowed to escape the tourists and take a holiday in…" Harry trailed off, realising too late that he still had no idea where he was.

"Everson," the taller one, Page supplied quietly. He had been watching the others talk with a thoughtful expression on his face. Jones looked at him then back at Harry as his handsome features formed into a cocky smirk. Harry scowled but kept up the pretence anyway, knowing he had the upper hand in the knowledge of their own lie if he needed it.

"Yes… well, like I said, my memory—"

"Right, your _memory_ ," Jones interrupted sardonically, no longer buying Harry's cover. Harry tried to control his annoyance at the man's attitude, but found it difficult as he glared at him.

Page clearly sensed the need to be the peacekeeper between them, as he tried to divert the conversation back on track.

"So you don't have anyone with you? Anyone to help you?"

"No. I'm on my own. I'll contact my family when I get out of here."

"They must be worried. You've been here two weeks, the doctor said."

"Yes… well, they'll be fine once they know I'm alright." Harry sensed the conversation was heading in a dangerous direction.

"Two weeks," Jones interjected. "Seems like a short time for the injuries you sustained."

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man's attempt at faux nonchalance. So that's what they were really here about, though Harry couldn't guess what exactly they wanted from him.

"That's what Dr. Massan says," he replied shortly.

"Don't you think that's strange?" Jones asked, now equally suspicious.

"I'm not a doctor."

"So you have no clue how you recovered so quickly?"

"What exactly would you like me to say?"

"Massan said your bones were almost completely shattered. Now they're fine. Tell me how that's possible."

"I don't know, a miracle?" Harry knew he was being immature, but it only served to mask his internal panic. These were exactly the types of questions he needed to avoid. He needed them to leave him alone, and he knew only one reason they would back down; self-preservation. He faked thoughtfulness suddenly.

"Have we met before? Something about you seems familiar…" He let the question hand in the air between them, waiting for them to pick up on the implication. Jones only looked confused at Harry's sudden shift in demeanour but Harry saw Page whip his head to look at Harry, his eyes widening slightly.

"Um, I think we have all we need. C'mon D- Jones, we should be getting back now."

Jones looked at Page as if he had lost his mind. "What? he didn't even answer—"

"Come on," Page looked at Jones imploringly, who finally understood his meaning.

"Right, well… good bye," he waved pathetically in Harry's direction, who only feigned confused innocence.

"We'll let you know if we, um, find anything," Page nodded to him as he backed out of the room after his partner.

Harry rolled his eyes and sat back with a smug sense of satisfaction. He quickly sobered up once he realised that he had only managed to curt the questions and that someone else would surely come along to ask more questions if he didn't move along soon.

—

Later that night, Harry felt a palpable sense of relief as his meagre personal items were returned to him by an orderly. He waited for the man to leave the room before bypassing the bag of bloodied clothes and slipping his hand into the opening of the mokeskin pouch given to him so long ago by Hagrid. The outside had remained as durable as ever, while Harry had worked with Hermione to magically enlarge the inside similar to the purse she had carried with her since the war. In their line of work, it had become useful to have a manner of important items at their disposal wherever they went.

Harry felt around with his fingers, careful not to disturb the ordered items with which he was now intimately familiar. He was thankful when he found a small stack of American muggle currency in its usual spot, slight though it was considering he hadn't replenished it from the last time he had needed it. He frowned as he pulled his arm back through the opening of the pouch, his hand catching on a piece of parchment that definitely didn't belong.

He grasped the small square of paper in his hand, reading it once, twice and a third time before realising he had no clue what the words were supposed to mean. Displayed in thin black ink, his own handwriting conveyed the message:

 _Oblivion_

 _MoM - Level 9_

 **—**

 **A/N:** If you're confused about anything, don't worry, more will be revealed as we go along. Let me know if there are any mistakes. Also, sorry if I've got location stuff wrong, I don't know much about American geography.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Mind the Gap

**Disclaimer:** I don't own either Harry Potter or Supernatural. All right go to their respective owners.

 **A/N:** Okay, sorry to anyone who was waiting for updates on this but I am fully intending to finish this story no matter how long it takes me. Sorry if it's a little boring or uneventful, but we'll be getting into the more exciting parts soon (I hope). Also, thanks to the reviewer who corrected the mistakes in the last chapter, which have been fixed. Again, thanks for reading!

 **THREE**

 **Mind the Gap**

It had been an ordeal, but Harry had managed to escape the confines of his hospital bed. Initially he had attempted to convince Dr. Massan that he was feeling much better, really and should be getting back home to his family. He hadn't had much hope, so it was unsurprising when the doctor had responded that Harry wan't leaving until they had more information on the circumstances of his recovery and the location of his family. Given that they had no accounts of his identity, age or home address, Harry had figured the best course of action was to slip away in the dead of the night and remain a mystery to the good people of Everson, WA.

He now sat in a rundown motel room, soft moonlight peeking through the edges of the drawn curtains, staring intently at the toothbrush on the worn bedsheets in front of him. He had never created a portkey himself, but had seen Hermione do it plenty of times on their various missions throughout the years. The only problem being that, without his wand, the task was becoming much more difficult than he had anticipated.

He had trained himself somewhat in his use of wandless magic, anticipating a situation such as the one he found himself in now, though he now realised that his training had been somewhat inadequate. He had been able to clean his bloodied clothes before leaving the hospital, but performing an unknown spell was a considerably harder task He had rented the room to give himself privacy and time to complete the task properly.

He scolded himself not to let his anxiety to get back home rush him and breathed in and out deeply before trying again. He whisper-cheered in triumph when the toothbrush glowed an electric blue before fading back to normalcy. Now he just had an anxious ten minutes before the portkey activated. It wasn't as though he was desperate to leave the town he had somehow crash-landed into; the walk through the colonial homes, heavily forested roads and small town square to get to the motel had been peaceful in a way he had never really experienced in his home country. He had expected that the roads of the small town would be almost as deserted during the day as they were during his night-time journey.

No, his main concern were his friends and family, who he was sure were out of their minds worrying about what had happened to him. Being Harry Potter only made matters worse, as he was sure word would get out about the great saviour suddenly going missing. His memories immediately before he woke in this strange land were still out of focus to him, only increasing his anxiety at the circumstances surrounding his disappearance.

He was pulled from his dazed waiting by the dull roar of an engine as a car pulled into the parking lot outside his window before being cut off by the driver. He glanced distractedly towards the window but his attention was caught fully when he heard low, murmuring voices arguing outside the confines of his room. Checking that he had a few minutes before the portly was ready, he crept quietly to the window and pulled the aged yellow curtains apart slightly.

He almost groaned when he saw the two men in heated conversation only meters away from him, outside the front of the room next door. He debated going back to sit next to the portkey and ignoring whatever issue the "officers" from the day before seemed to be having before he heard his own name uttered.

"Look, this Harry guy is clearly suspicious and now he just up and leaves the hospital without anyone noticing?" The shorter one who had called himself Jones was mocking in his tone. "He's clearly our guy."

The taller one seemed more skeptical. "I don't know, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just 'cause you've got a hard on for the guy, Sam, doesn't mean he's-"

"You hit him with your car, Dean," Sam cut in, his words grinding through his teeth. "Why would he have let that happen?"

"That's another thing," Dean responded, apparently unphased by guilt at his part in the collision. "How'd he heal so quickly? Don't tell me that doesn't scream witchy behaviour to you." Harry's eyebrows shot into his hairline, unsure he had heard the man's words correctly.

Sam seemed pained by accusation. "I just don't think it's him, Dean."

Dean sighed, lowering his head and rubbed the back of his neck slightly. The tone of his next words were softer.

"Sammy, I know you like to see the best in people," Sam's eyes flashed but he didn't dispute the other man's words. "But you know this job. The good guys can look like bad guys and the bad guys can look like good guys."

Sam didn't seem to be able to argue with that logic. He sighed then, looking around as he finally seemed to notice that their location wasn't exactly private.

"We should get some sleep. We can ask around town if anyone's seen him tomorrow."

Dean nodded, also checking the darkness of the parking lot, despite it being empty save for the two men's old black muscle car. Expecting the pair to head inside their own motel room, Harry was surprised when the handsome man's green eyes looked directly towards his window. Not realising how much he had opened the curtains during the course of the conversation, he ducked suddenly into the darkness of his room, the abandoned curtain fluttering noticeably. The silence that followed was deafening and he cursed to himself as he realised that the men outside were about to ambush him.

A glowing blue light caught the corner of his eye and Harry sighed in relief as he remembered the portkey that was prepared to take him away to the safety of his home. He grasped the glowing device firmly in his hand and, as he felt the familiar pull behind his navel signalling the beginning of his journey home, watched as the door burst inwards, denting the wall in the force of its impact. The faces of the two men shifted from determined hostility to amazed confusion as Harry was wrenched into the tumultuous confusion of portray travel.

—

Harry only just managed to keep his balance as his feet landed hard onto the concrete sidewalk. Harry's vision swirled dangerously as he gathered his bearings before taking in the familiar drab surroundings of Grimmauld Place. Harry ignored his still unsettled stomach and mind as he darted across the street towards his home at Number 12. He stopped short before entering the property, suddenly caught with the sensation that something was very wrong with the picture before him. Unsure exactly about what had alerted him to this fact, he gazed around the property for suspicious signs.

The front of the house was dark and foreboding as ever, but the yard, Harry realised, looked much tidier than the state that he had left it in. He wasn't exactly a master gardener and he very much doubted someone had tended to his plants in the two weeks that he had been missing.

If the garden wasn't giveaway enough, the light that blinked into existence in one of the upstairs windows warned Harry that something was definitely wrong. Harry crouched behind one of the pillars of the front gate and watched a shadowy figure move into the path of the light. Unsure whether the silhouette was a friend or foe given the gaps in his memory, Harry made the decision to check the ministry for someone to help him.

—

Hours later, Harry sat on the curb with his head in his hands, oblivious to the looks he was receiving from passersby on the sidewalk. He had gone first to the ministry, slightly confused when the visitors' entrance hadn't admitted him and then a little concerned when the other official entrances had refused to allow him entrance. His confusion had grown to trepidation to outright desperation as he ventured to King's Cross, the Leaky Cauldron and every other magical location in London he could think of only for each to be as non-magical as the last.

He moaned in despair, attracting even more concerned looks from the people hurrying past, their pace accelerating to steer clear of him. He couldn't help himself and couldn't bring himself to care. He thought he had been hurled into a different country, but now realised he was much more lost than that. Whatever dream, alternate reality or simulation he had found himself in, it was clear that his world, his family and friends didn't exist here. It had been bad enough when he had thought an ocean separated him from his home but now… the profound sensation of loss clawed at his insides.

He sat in the same spot for a few minutes before he remembered something from earlier that day. Before his escape from the two men in the motel room in Everson, one of them had described him as "witchy". It wasn't much to go on, but it was evidence that magic _did_ exist in this world, and that his would-be attackers knew something about it.

Harry thought carefully about the situation as it was. His only lead was back in America, which either meant he had to put himself in harm's way again or wait around in London for a sign, any sign of something magical. Deciding quickly that forward was his only option, Harry looked around for an expendable object. Watching a formal looking businessman litter his empty coffee cup, Harry picked the disposed object up and, ignoring people who probably thought he was a homeless man scrounging for food, moved to a nearby alleyway.

Discreetly placing his hands around the cardboard cylinder, Harry watched the cup glow faintly for a moment before checking the mouth of the alley. Watching the people pass to and fro in front of the small opening, Harry was hit with a sudden pang of loneliness as he remembered the walks he had taken with Hermione or Ron or the both of them to the Ministry for work when their schedules worked out and they didn't feel like apparating. In that moment, Harry was hit with the realisation that he may never do something as normal as that with either of them ever again. That he might not see them ever again.

He felt the telltale itch in his eyes as tears began to form before a pulling sensation joined the pit of despair in his stomach and he disappeared in a flash of light.

—

The two brothers sat on opposite sides of the motel room, Sam blocking the entrance while Dean sat on the bed cleaning his gun. Dean's hands moved tensely over the cool metal, betraying the annoyance that had grown since the witch had disappeared from the room.

Sam had demanded that the pair remain in the room, somehow sure that the creature would return to the motel despite leaving behind no belongings. Dean found this ridiculous, complaining that the witch could be committing even more evil acts while the pair just sat there.

In fact, he was about to reiterate his stance when suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a brilliant flash of light and watched as the figure of the fleeing man returned before his eyes.

Grabbing his gun, which was thankfully in one piece and watching as Sam stiffened into a defensive posture, Dean waited for the light disappear before firmly addressing the surprised witch in front of him.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you right now."


End file.
